My Youth, My Beauty
by Cpt. Carraghay
Summary: "Of course. Macavity is not here, because he is preparing his own ceremony. But what of Grizabella?" Mestophiles's eyes widened as he contemplated the implications of her absence. "We have been caught in a decades-long game of cat-and-mouse. Our missing felines are truly but lambs, and Grizabella is the slaughter."
1. Chapter 1

The moon hung low over the London streets that night, a light brighter and far more invasive than any streetlamp. Grizabella, her paws tracking through puddles of carelessly discarded human potions, caught a reflection of her grey coat in the drink. Her once luxurious gown, when stained in the wine of their current mirth, somehow managed to take on a semblance of its old, dark shade. _I was beautiful then_ , she thought, flashing her fangs in a brief smile before the strain of her journey forced a ragged cough from her lips. _I was beautiful then_ , _but now only the Jellicle Moon pays this old crone any mind_. _Leave off_ , she cursed inwardly, _and shine on some other cat's darkness._

The heap where she'd made her recent home was well shaded, at least, and she let her coat sink wearily to the ground as soon as she knew It was no longer watching. A tall, broken mirror- as tall and broken as it needed to be to reflect her visage- sat in the corner of the den. Her feline eyes adjusted and she had to turn away when the contour of her body became legible in the dark light. The hunch of her back, long limbs pulled downward by pockets of pale excess flesh; a mane of unkempt grey hair which failed now to cover her decently, as her breasts sagged far below the extent of it.

The wall of mementos she kept from her youth was a far preferable sight. Trinkets, letters from admirers, old decorations she used to adorn herself with recalled images of her shining face in the lamplight, in the spring of her youth. Autumn had come and gone, and now in winter even her old self drew feelings of jealous rage from the pit of her being.

Behind her dressing room curtain a muffled sound began to overpower her inner turmoil. She had taken too long getting home, of course, and now her task would be that much more trying. Still, all the anguish of the night's vigil had only invigorated her desires. She would persevere, no matter the cost to her everlasting soul.

Following the sound to her private chamber- more private even than the heap itself- she steeled her weary limbs for the task ahead. The knife lay on its rack, curved as a cat's claw is curved. A gift from the Sorcerer Cat, adorned with jewels of the deepest red. Its shape caught the light like a cheshire cat's grin. Timid and shaking, Grizabella tip-toed toward her mark. She struck true, and after a last futile moan the noises ceased.


	2. Chapter 2

While the others grazed and gathered Munkustrap watched over them, as much an admirer as a guardian. Reclining in his throne- or so the other Jellicles had taken to calling it- he was completely content with the night and all its goings-on. His flock truly were the pick of the litter, a noble and hardy breed, virtuous in body and soul. But none among them compared to the kitten he now called his acolyte.

Alonzo, perhaps disapproving of his private pontificating, had begun to rub his fur against the older cat's. That lithe young body fit snugly on the seat of the throne as well, especially when it was curled up around his own, rear upturned and paws supporting themselves on Munkustrap's thighs. Every Leader required an aide, and in Alonzo Munkustrap had found the promise of youth finely complimented by the wisdom he himself had deposited there.

But in the coming nights, the perpetuity and propagation of the younger generation were not his concern. Munkustrap had a pressing task to consider, more present even than the texture of his young kitten's fur against his face. For Munkustrap was burdened with bestowing the gift of immortality to one Jellicle alone.

For him to have inherited this prestigious role was unprecedented. Young as he was, the followers of the Jellicle faith lauded Munkustrap for his strict adherence to their sacred way of life. A handsome face- untouched it seemed by the burden of his vocation and the sternness of his character- had attracted many a stray to his sermons. Old Deuteronomy himself had taken notice, and Munkustrap could still recall the day he was summoned to his chambers, for reasons he was yet to understand. He was lead prancing to a private cell in the temple, which hardly was larger than the cat himself. In all his rotund whiteness he most resembled that beloved lunar orb.

He told Munkustrap that- though he reveled in the celebrations surrounding their annual Ascension- he wished for the faith to have a new face, a new promise for the future. From the resignation with which he mewed into the pliant young acolyte's ears, it seemed as if he were wishing to be reincarnated into the young Munkustrap, so to speak; to slip seamlessly out of the limelight while a fresh replacement slipped in to do his bidding.

Munkustrap was all too willing, and able besides, to act, however superficially, in service of his faith. Lunar Cycles had come and gone since then and Old Deuteronomy had become quite a bit more old, and Munkustrap found his responsibilities improving from mere presence to those of a truly spiritual import. His tasks included: presiding over unions, blessing newborn kittens, sending the departed off to their final resting places on the face of the Moon; and now he was to grant new life to those most deserving. A strange pride stirred in him, though he knew these miracles were wrought by no feline hand.

In service of this great goal, the following nights were to be dedicated to the community's most treasured cats, commemorating their accomplishments and testifying to their worthiness before the judgement of the Moon. Among those up for review were: Gus, a Cat of Many Faces, but Owner of None; Skimbleshanks, Fire of the Engine, Father of Steam, the Red Caboose; Jennyanydots, Maternity given Feline Form; Grizabella the Grey, once treasured for her beauty and grace; and Bustopher Jones, He of the Finest Tastes. Though the Jellicles would rave and rally for their choice of cat, only one would earn that annual rite, and Munkustrap would deliver the sentence.

The celebrations were beginning, and those of true faith were gathered 'round for the preliminary presentations. But there were a few cats who simply were not there.


	3. Chapter 3

The solitary silence of Grizabella's dwelling was troubled only by a punctuated _drip, drop_ of red, cascading off the edge of the altar. Her victim lay still, frozen forever now in innocent slumber. Belindah was her name, she believed- or was it Jemima? Either way, she was stunning, a statuesque tribute to the cat that Grizabella used to be.

This was far from a superficial sacrifice, however; this kitten's blood, effervescent, brimming with vitality, would flow forever in her own veins when she achieved her eternal youth.

When she had first begun to walk this dark path, Grizabella too was skeptical of the power that these fair kittens contained. The secrets of blood were relayed to her in shadows by the depraved and disgraced Sorcerer Macavity, one moonlit night long ago. He seemed all too eager then to share his secrets, as if it were some devilish trick of his, some prank on an old woman's fading wits. Despite what crimes the Jellicles loved to pin on Macavity, though, deception was not one of his vices. He was their enemy, and she, an outcast to whom they'd lately become indifferent. Therefore he had nothing to gain from toying with her aspirations.

Their first experiments began innocently enough. Cats died every day, especially the careless young kittens who had yet to sprout their claws. A passing automobile would do their work for them, or perhaps even a rabid dog. Macavity would slink down to the dark-lit streets and retrieve the scraps, like a husband bringing food to the table. And she, eager to please, trusting to a fault, and submissive to her fate, would oblige his machinations.

It wasn't long until she began to notice a change. Her flesh, once practically white with the frost of age, seemed to regain its color. The wrinkles that pinched and stretched her once lovely face began to soothe away. It was a beginning which made her ever hopeful for the end. Macavity's curiosity turned to ambition, and her passivity to violence. They would hunt together, hoping to catch some prey in its final moment but willing to instigate if the moment failed to arise. She watched him kill, eyes wide with horror and awe, and he watched her regress from a wizened old songstress to a spry and eager murderess.

It was just then, as she sat in blood recollecting these more recent memories, that she beheld the very same glimmering yellow eyes peeking into her private window. Macavity reached his slender limbs inside and leapt the rest of the way, his wild orange hair like fire trailing behind him. She could never quite decipher what sort of face lay beneath that mane, but the body was handsome, too handsome perhaps to belong to a cat of his wisdom and prowess.

She reached for her robe, hoping to retain at least a shred of mystery about the miracles his blood magic had wrought. They were not shy around each other. How could they be, with both their ugliest qualities being the only ones they shared?

He beckoned her with a clawed finger toward the window. Taking his hand like a blushing maiden being led to the dance floor, she was supported up and out into the moonlight, darkened now by a coming storm. Little droplets of water like tears from the sky began to cleanse her body in preparation for their next sin.

Ahead in the alleyway Grizabella heard the giggles of two cats, one male and one female. Macavity vaulted up a fire escape and she followed, shocked by her own grace; the ritual was a success. From an open window two slim shadows pounced to the ground. It must have been a human dwelling of sorts, as they appeared to be carrying precious scraps of food in their paws. They moved in tandem, practically dancing together, though they hoped no one was watching.

Her own companion glanced back at her, all his wicked intentions broadcast clearly on what parts of his face she _could_ see. A creature of darkness himself, he melted into the shadows projected on the brick building, and before Grizabella's night-sharpened eyes could track him he was beside the twins already.

The male turned about and was caught by a sharp-clawed blow, not fatal but certainly distracting. The female twin- god, she was beautiful, all the strength of her brother's breed contained in a supremely delicate form- dropped her spoils and leapt to the rescue. She had Macavity pinned for a moment between the two of them, she with deft movements and her brother flailing wildly in his state of panic.

Though her companion was quite the fighter, Grizabella's safety relied on his as well, and in her weary state she could not secure her escape without him handy. So she dropped to the cement below, crept along the wall to where the scuffle was occurring. A discarded, disassembled wooden chair caught her attention, and she wrenched the back free of the pile it rested in and dragged it along with her. The twins, so entranced by Macavity's arcane and exotic movements, hardly noticed when Grizabella slunk up behind to land a clean blow on the sister's back. She toppled to the ground and Macavity seized the momentary chaos to swipe his claws across the brother's face, spattering him with a mist of his own blood which blinded him to the ongoing movements.

Macavity stood triumphant above the groans and screams, his head titled back in a satisfied grin which told Grizabella that his work was done for the moment. Vicious as he was, he still insisted that she do her own dirty-work from time to time. She hefted the wooden plank high and struck again, and the sister's futile dreams of escape were broken from her defeated form. The brother, still thrashing and incapacitated, had not yet seen her distinctive coat. She could leave him be, to stumble home- possibly alive- and add fuel to the flames of Macavity's devilry. He hissed a string of curses as he heard his sister being dragged away into the misty midnight.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning broke upon the city, and cats were slinking, lazily, from their nests to feast in preparation for the day's events. Munkustrap was perched alert above the rabble with Alonzo at his side, stretching his back out toward the rising sun. Down below he smelled the savory wafting of Jenny's dishes, before which Bustopher Jones was seated in preparation. Gus had prepared a rousing speech to kickstart the morning, accompanied by the steam and sound of Skimbleshanks's infernal machines. But where was Grizabella in this time of celebration?

Amidst the quiet rumbling of his flock he detected an outlier, a huddled form scraping its way through the crowd toward the lamppost on which he sat. He leapt gracefully from his perch, shocking both parties with his landing as he beheld a familiar face. His younger brother, the Rum-Tum-Tugger, wore an uncharacteristically serious look as he supported a wounded Mungojerry with all his might.

The twin cat was covered in scratches, the most notable of which obscured his face and vision, and must have caused him difficulty enough that he required anycat's aid, however faulty was that which the Rum-Tum-Tugger could provide. His brother pleaded with him for sympathy, crooning his account in his typical, irreverent fashion. He told Munkustrap that he'd found Mungojerry unconscious by a human dwelling, separated from his better half and cursing his weakness. He said he'd been attacked, and by none other than Macavity himself. He said Macavity had his sister.

Munkustrap, a leading figure in the Jellicle order, had every right to be skeptical of his brother's second-hand account. The Rum-Tum-Tugger did love to tug his own rum-tum, so to speak, and his overblown tales were more than often inspired by an excessive _catnip_ habit. _I ought to keep my brother on a shorter leash,_ he thought, _before his reputation for gallivanting ruins us both._ They seemed to be two opposite cats: the elder wore a coat of white and grey with black spots, perhaps a symbol of purity besmirched by the wear-and-tear of his onerous duty; and the younger was bedecked on gold and orange, a flamboyant, deliciously masculine affair that never failed to turn a Jellicle's eye from the light of the Moon. His brother was beautiful, and were he not possessed of the most desirable young cat in the litter for his own, he would be envious of his lot in life.

Munkustrap worried for his brother, and for himself, but he worried most now for Rumpleteaser if her brother's words proved true. Macavity, unchecked by law or logic, was a dangerous enemy to behold. The Clerical Cat bade his acolyte escort the injured Mungojerry to the infirmary. He and the Rum-Tum-Tugger made their way to a private quarter of the Jellicle Temple, where he hoped to acquire some insight into the intentions of the Scheming Sorcerer Macavity.

Inside the Arcane Archives was musty and dim, the heavy scent of academia burdening the very air. Munkustrap crept quietly forward so as not to disturb the cat who dwelled there: The Magical Mr. Mestophiles, Conjurer Supreme, Father of Lunar Wizardry. The eccentric cat was levitating a foot off the ground, a weathered tome pinned beneath his claw, his white hairs on end with the current of knowledge rushing through him.

Munkustrap entreated the wizened young cat, and the mere mention of Macavity's name forced a serious sigh from Mestophiles as he closed his book and touched ground. A breeze brushed across his short black hair as he recalled his earlier days at the Acatemy, an institution established by Old Deuteronomy himself for the purpose of research. When the cats who would someday be known as the Jellicles first settled into their London colonies, they found that the Moon itself was watching over them. Its luminescence seemed to have special properties, granting them a light by which humans could not catch or frighten them, and a life which even death could not snatch away. It was Deuteronomy and his Acatemy who first communed with the Moon, offering praise and song in exchange for its divine protection. Thus began the annual festivals, and the everlasting prosperity of the Jellicle clan.

All of this was relayed to Munkustrap when he was first assigned his sacred duties. Mestophiles now informed him that there was indeed more to the story, an unsavory truth that even Deuteronomy shied from discussing. The tale of Macavity's first betrayal.

As a teenage kitten, Mestophiles had served beside Macavity in pursuit of Deuteronomy's promised insights. The two had grazed together for many an extended morning, poring over the texts they collected from local houses of worship, mewing at the Moon and crafting concoctions of the most outlandish variety. Macavity was surely the more headstrong of the two, and his natural talent for magic only aided his grand ambitions. Their pursuits led them to the tallest towers and deepest depths of the London sewers, where danger doubtless pursued them in turn. When one of their adventures led them straight into the jaws of a hungry pack of Dogs- mortally wounding the Conjurer Cat- the Moon was quick to oblige their cries for mercy, and it was in this desperation that the healing properties of the Lunar Light were first witnessed. Mestophiles owed his eternal life to the Moon, to Macavity, and to the covenant they three established that bloody night decades ago.

Of course, if the tale ended there, Macavity would still be a respected Magician of the Acatemy. Instead he strayed from the path, perverting the Moon's promise beyond recognition. Macavity had learned through means Mestophiles preferred not to imagine that those blessed by the Moon possessed, in physical form, a modicum of its restorative properties. These blessed cats were pure of heart, lovely of body and, above all, preternaturally youthful. He proposed in blasphemous tongues that- for the good of _all_ Jellicles, not only the annual chosen one- these blessed cats be... harvested for their sacred blood. He proposed an exchange of their lives for the countless others in their litter, who would live on to produce finer cats that would draw even the Moon's sympathy with their beauty and grace. He proposed an annual ritual sacrifice, as grand and celebrated as the festival of Resurrection. And for this, he was banished from the Acatemy, to dwell in the shadows with his darksome desires.

Munkustrap trembled at this news, and at the distant gaze in his elder's yellow eyes as he recalled the heart-wrenching betrayal of one who was once like a brother to him. The Rum-Tum Tugger rushed to Mestophiles's side, stroking his fur in hopes of comforting his dear friend. Mestophiles rested his head on the Tugger's shoulder, burying his shamed face in the ruff around his collar.

Through all this Munkustrap wondered, though, why Mestophiles thought it pertinent to share this tale, during the height of their celebration of all times...

 _Of course. Macavity is not here, because he is preparing his_ own _ceremony._ But what of Grizabella? Mestophiles's eyes widened as he contemplated the implications of her absence. His claws swept a nearly visible swathe through the empty air, so profound was his sudden fury.

 _We have been caught in a decades-long game of cat-and-mouse. Our missing felines are truly but lambs, and Grizabella is the slaughter._


	5. Chapter 5

The table had been set for her grandest feast yet. Grizabella emerged from her dressing room, a clean crimson coat draped over her shoulders. Macavity watched with rapt interest as she twirled about, her body regaining its vitality, her heart now hardened by the events of the past few nights. While the other Jellicles had been faffing about, reveling in drunken ignorance and blind faith, she had been quite drunk as well on the power Macavity's magic provided. And tonight, she'd finally have her fill.

Laid across a makeshift banquet table- a plank of wood stretched over a hollow tub- were three cats- each of whom had once been a delight to behold, but now could only degrade themselves, staining their faces with tears and begging for their very lives. Strips of cloth gagged their screams, but all their terror could be read more plainly in their eyes. While Grizabella had no mercy to offer, she would appease them soon with quick and honorable deaths. If the Jellicles so prized their precious immortality, would these kittens not be equally blessed to aid in the sustaining of hers?

With Macavity still presiding, Grizabella took up her old dagger and stood by the altar. Her fingers trembled around the grip, until the calming aid of her companion soothed her nerves. His paws clasped around hers, his body pressed against her back and his wild mane tickled the back of her neck until she gasped. One look into the villain's fiery eyes lit a spark in her backwards-aging heart and she plunged the dagger into her first victim, who struggled for only an instant before the fatal wound collasped her in place. Her blood, lipstick red in the candlelight, poured into the tub below. The next kitten in line, hearing the muffled screams of her companion, began to sob uncontrollably, transparent tears mingling with the red and splashing her coat prematurely with the hue of death. Macavity guided her hands yet again and she aimed for the heart, failing to puncture so deep at first and requiring a second thrust to finish the job. The third cat merely closed her eyes and shook her head, resigning to her fate. Grizabella took this resignation as the permission she needed, and she parted with Macavity to deliver the final blow with her own two paws.

The deed at last done, Macavity lifted the plank on which the bodies lay and revealed the fountain of blood they'd spilled beneath. Grizabella chuckled to herself- baffled, yet a bit relieved by the present end of her work- and prepared for her bath. Stripping her now slightly darker crimson cloak she slid into the tub, feeling the warmth of life rush around her newly invogirated body. Her reflection tonight was sublime, all the smooth color of the bloodbath painting a lurid picture of a beautiful young vixen, grinning with utmost satisfaction.

Grizabella submerged herself in the viscous red, drinking more than her fill each time her lips touched the surface. Though it tasted of death and sin, she had surely swallowed worse to maintain her reputation as a young kitten- deep blows to her pride and decency, all of which wounded her far worse than did the sting of virgin blood in her throat. She splashed about like a puppy in a pond, cackling in a higher, sweeter pitch than she was capable of even yesterday. In this excess of violence and ecstasy she could practically feel her skin tightening around her, feel her body molding to accommodate the young soul within.

Nearly an hour had passed before she tired of her private celebration, and she stood to dress again. Blood cascaded in thick curtains down her slender curves, hardly covering her before the eyes of her companion. Macavity held her robe and had prepared to assist her when he- perhaps enraptured by the gore before him- let it sink to the floor. He reached forth his paw and Grizabella, panting and panicked, practically stumbled into it. His long arms encircled her dripping form and, in a gesture more intimate than she had come to expect from any cat, he wiped the blood from her lips and kissed her.

The kiss did not last long, as the slick coat of blood she wore caused Grizabella to slip once again from her partner's grasp. She hoped, prayed even, that he had made some terrible blunder he would not soon repeat. After all, it had been so long since any cat had paid her any mind, so long since she'd felt the touch of a virile male. But then, that was the _old_ Glamour Cat. Tonight's Grizabella was fresh, red hot from the iron forge of blood. They had skulked together, schemed together, and killed together. Why not then lie together?

She steadied herself on his broad shoulders, leaning upward for another tender kiss. _Touch me,_ she pleaded inwardly; _it's so easy to leave me. All the rest already have._ He did not. His claws grazed against her thighs, hefting her up to straddle his midsection. Like a knight rescuing a princess from the dungeon of her sorrows he carried her away to her sleeping heap, blood like hot tar bonding their bodies together all the while. The candles blew themselves out as the two retired, entwining together under a blanket of the darkest night.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning peeped its way through the curtains of Munkustrap's private cloister, and the chirps of pigeons- tonight's dinner, no doubt- rang through his ears. Through the thin veneer of bedsheets he watched his taught muscles stretch out beside those of his bedmate. Alonzo, for his part, was fast asleep, his supple white limbs reflecting the morning light like fine china. Munkustrap ran a paw past the curve of his back, watching as the kitten's hairs stood at attention when beckoned by his touch. He stirred ever so slightly, arching into his superior's palm as it grazed his petite rear and tail, which swatted the sheets aside to reveal the fullness of his form.

It was with much reluctance that Munkustrap tore himself from his lover this morning, but petulant thoughts would not let his ever-vigilant mind rest. Though he had spent the night in blissful negligence, he had neither investigated nor discussed further the deductions from his meeting with Mestophiles the day before. His wonderings had taken a slight turn as his distraction forced gladder possibilities into his head. What if Mestophiles's wild theories were just that, and Grizabella had simply overslept? Or perhaps she had been found by one of those shelter humans, and brought to a hospitable home. If hers and Macavity's absences were correlated, there were other possibilities there as well. With the Glamour Cat still yet unseen, he could only imagine that she was either the missing murderer's victim, _or_ his accomplice. The latter was more likely, but the former, far more cause for concern.

As if the Moon were reading his confused mind, a knock on his chamber door scattered these thoughts and brought him back to the reality of the moment. Pulling the curtains again over Alonzo, he tip-toed to the doorway, cracking the door slightly open to reveal his visitor. The Rum-Tum-Tugger- ruffled and haggard from a long night of canoodling, no doubt- beckoned Munkustrap join him in Mr. Mestophiles's library. Nodding in relief- for whatever Mestophiles hoped to share would surely ease his lonesome wondering- he followed his brother down to the depths of the temple.

Mestophiles was exactly where he had left him the day prior, poised in a semblance of perfect cerebral tranquility, surrounded by centuries' worth of knowledge and comforting wisdom. Munkustrap knelt before him, curious and anxious for his speech to begin.

He informed the two brothers that he had hatched a plan to, if not trap, at least uncover the suspected cat-burglars. Though the night of the festival was merely hours away, a decision had not yet been made as to which Old Cat would receive the honor of reincarnation. All were present, of course, besides Grizabella. So they and the other cats would be informed- falsely- that _she_ was the Moon's first choice, and that she could only receive her honors if she made an appearance. It was a brilliant ruse. After all, word travelled extraordinarily quickly amongst the Jellicles. Munkustrap recalled to himself a tale of ill repute regarding his brother and some of his most enamored kittens of various sexes. The noise of their revelry carried out across the night- with special attention to one key phrase- and in the morning, Bustopher Jones was inspired to concoct a special dish for the congregation: Chicken, cooked "Slow and Steady."

This aside, Munkustrap was eager to enact Mestophiles's scheme, to plant the seeds of this rumor and let it travel through the grapevine to Macavity's door. If it did not attract the Glamour cat herself- or, if something had happened to her to prevent her from hearing- at least the wicked Sorcerer Cat would show his face, to slay the Moon's chosen.

He let the Rum-Tum-Tugger take charge of the operation, mumbling in sultry tones that could spin the vilest of lies into truth. Before noon, the festival was abuzz with songs of Grizabella's praise; _of course our Moon would choose her!_ they whispered; _I remember the way she sang all those years ago; what a joy it would be to have her back!_ By dusk, the stage had been set for their grand betrayal.


	7. Chapter 7

Grizabella had not left her bed all day- Or was it _their_ bed, now that she'd found a dependable mate? Either way, the fragrance, the heat, the memory of their shared time and space had imprinted on her new and younger skin, seeped into her veins alongside the holy blood she'd so blasphemously imbibed. The spiked pattern of Macavity's fur had left dents in her flesh as well, as she had spent so many hours with the full weight of her body and her love pressed heavily upon it.

Only recently had he gone to scout the Jellicle convention for any new tidings. He would be quick, he promised, to return to his _beloved._ It had been merely minutes but her patience was already waning, so eager was she to see the Moon through new eyes. She rose at last and dressed herself in a clean white coat, one she'd had decades ago but never wore for fear of tarnishing. Now she was worthy of it, and it was worthy of her.

Almost as soon as she had finished dressing- well, it was no easy feat rinsing the blood from her dark locks- Macavity slipped again through the secret window. He took her paw in his as soon as she was within reach and planted a sensuous kiss there, making her wish she'd stayed abed for more. But his usual, stern demeanor returned after this show of affection, and he delivered to her a revelation which made her believe for a moment this whole week had been one surreal dream from which she'd yet to wake.

So, she had been chosen for the Resurrection? Now, of all times, after she'd worked _so_ hard to achieve her own? _Where were you, Moon, when I last pleaded for your ear? Ah, right. Leagues away in the blasted sky!_ Well, perhaps its blessing would not be so redundant after all. If she were reborn, it would be into this body, which- perhaps by merit alone- was far preferable even to the one she inhabited in the morning of her youth. She giggled to think of those Jellicle fools handing their most precious treasure over to one who had already wrenched it from their cold, dead claws!

Still, Macavity's expression had not changed. He urged her to be wary of the Jellicles- Mr. Mestophiles in particular- for their reaction to her changed form might not be as favorable as her own, or his. They might take her for some impostor, or worse, a witch capable of manipulating time itself (a trick only the eldest of the Church had mastered). So he would travel alongside her, but in the shadows, to the festival, watching her back and stalking everyone else's.

Her red-painted lips curled involuntarily at the idea of having Macavity's eyes fixed on her, and she kissed him- on the mouth, of course- for good measure before they set out for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

Grizabella had indeed come, and not without Macavity's aid either. Munkustrap's eyes sharpened as he beheld the pair, she walking proudly ahead and he supposedly hidden behind. She was not the Grizabella he remembered, though. Her face seemed somehow renewed, her colors more vibrant, her stride surer and her gaze absolutely overpowering. Disturbed as he was, he steeled himself for the confrontation ahead, and as soon as Grizabella rounded an alleyway corner to the festival square he pounced toward the errant Macavity with alert aggression.

Macavity, who had been walking the trim of a darkly-lit brick buidling, leapt to the ground as soon as he beheld the black-and-white cat vaulting skyward. They nearly caught each other mid-air, but Macavity merely sneered as Munkustrap's claws whiffed through his overgrown mane. It had been years since Munkustrap had even _seen_ this legendary criminal, and he had only grown more sinister since. Their eyes locked as they circled each other, prepared for a struggle that would tip the balance between good and evil in their fair city streets.

His zealous heart afire in this opportunity for vengeance, Munkustrap nearly tripped across the battlefield, striking nothing but the dark night air as Macavity danced around him. The villain began to taunt him, twirling and leaping about as if engaged in some fatal ballet. Munkustrap hung back for a split second, following the flicker of flame-like fur across his peripheral vision in an attempt to predict Macavity's next move. The Sorcerer leapt again, this time into a kick delivered just in time. He tumbled to the ground, where Munkustrap landed atop him in a firm grapple.

While Munkustrap was determined to detain his assailant, Macavity had no such desire to be detained, and bucked violently against him. His claws whipped backward and sliced at Munkustraps sides, drawing first blood. He struggled still to hold him to the ground, until Macavity jerked his head backward unexpectedly and slammed into Munkustrap's lower jaw. His teeth clattering together, he could hardly scream as he was thrown from Macavity like a rider is thrown from one of those large bull-riding games he'd seen in a local human bar. He rolled a few times on the ground, and when he regained his perspective Macavity was standing above him, claws poised to deliver a killing blow.

But first, he paused. Macavity was a proud cat, it seemed, and like himself perhaps he preferred verbal to physical violence. He hissed and growled out a mad rant, and with Munkustrap's ears still ringing he could only make out a few phrases. _You're no better_ , perhaps, and _what do you think happens to those cats you fire off to space?_ Surely those years in darkness and solitude had gone to his head, and now he conspired even against those things most sacred.

But before Macavity's claws came down, and before he could say another word a flash of white crossed his eye as Alonzo entered the fray. His trusted companion, of course! The young athlete twirled and clawed, that same body he knew only in the tranquility of the bedroom now weaponized for good. This glorious sight invigorated Munkustrap, who flanked Macavity and caught him unawares. Surrounded by the two Jellicle Knights and drowning in the holy light of the Moon, their infernal enemy stood no chance, and he was tossed between them like ball of yarn. He toppled to the ground again, where Alonzo pinned his arms behind his back and held him in place.

Defeated and struggling just to glare upward, Macavity let a few final words slither past his fangs and into the night air. _You're no better than I am. Our power flows from the same source: the blood of chosen cats. Think of all the lives your precious Deutoronomy has lived. Who could those lives have belonged to, if he had not gobbled them all up for his own? And Mestophiles! My once true friend, who died so long ago but was reborn. Where could that new life have come from? We are the same, we who tamper with life and death; only you have the gall to call it a miracle, and I the humility to embrace the name Sorcerer. You are a liar, Munkustrap, and you grovel before an altar built by thieves and liars, so tall it could reach the Moon itself._

His babble concluded, Macavity hung his head in shame and allowed Alonzo to apprehend him. Whatever his past, his future condemnation would be decided on the morrow, after the true traitor had been given her due.


	9. Chapter 9

Grizabella beamed as she beheld the faces of her Jellicle cats, all turned in awe toward her. Her name rose like a prayer above the rabble, and the fanfare must have been loud enough to wake the whole human city. She trusted Macavity was watching still, biding his time until he could take her home again.

She glided past hundreds of kittens whom she'd never seen before, all of whom knew her face and reputation regardless. She sailed through waves of admirers who were oh so young and impressionable in the height of her career. She stopped before the other Old Cats- her dear friends Gus, Skimbleshanks, Jennyanydots, and Bustopher-, curtsying before each of them if only to flash her beautiful new coat. They gawked as they cheered her on, astonished to see the old Glamour Cat in the flesh again.

Ascending the steps to the altar, she finally caught sight of Munkustrap, the upstart preacher whom she assumed would be delivering her sentence. Perhaps it was her excitement, vivifying the scenery of the evening, but did she not detect a smattering of blood upon the cleric's coat?

He and the younger cat beside him bowed as she passed, wordlessly blessing her ascent. Her chariot, a silver, conical rocket awaited her, and a train of beautiful female kittens threw breadcrumbs as she crossed the threshold into its steely frame. When the door was shut and the noise of the ceremony drowned out, she sobbed aloud to herself, so overcome with a flurry of confliction emotions as she was. She would return to London on in the morning a changed cat, and Macavity- who had witnessed the entirety of her transformation- would be waiting to open the doors again.

The ground rumbled beneath her as steam enveloped her view. The vessel rocked around her, the air tightening around her as she shot up above the buildings and streets. Each lamp seemed to flicker out of view in turn, as if beating a fatalistic warning to her tear-bleared vision. They disappeared and blackness surrounded her- but a black only so dark as the night at its darkest, a treasured night before a harsh morning.

Replacing those streetlamps were the stars, and the Moon so bright. Her temporary coffin took her past them all, and toward the splendor of the sun. Its shimmering gaze, its warmth erased all her past doubts, all the remaining imperfections of her body and soul were outshone by its brilliant white heat.

 _Now, a new day will begin_ , she thought, and she smiled at her reflection in the porthole.


End file.
